Anniversary
by The Silent Following Potato
Summary: A year after their parting in 'Hannibal', Clarice is just beginning to come out of her shell, though still troubled by the happenings of that July night. Please, R&R! Rating is because Dr. Lecter eats people, mostly. UPDATED: FINISHED! *cue fireworks* ^.^
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed within this story, though I confess to an unnatural possessiveness of dear Dr. Lecter. They all belong to Thomas Harris. I am only borrowing them for the time being. This is after the movie, not the book, just for clarifications sake. No memory palace, no Mischa. But I may borrow details from the book that aren't in the movie, so I hope nothing's confusing. There. Think I'm done talking now. Read on! ^.^  
  
  
  
1  
  
There was once a time when running brought her a feeling of serenity. The sound of her own feet slapping against pavement was more calming than any amount of meditation, and more rejuvenating than a weekend at a health spa. Well almost, anyway. Now as she pounded down the street, all she could hear was his voice, echoing with every footfall.  
  
I came halfway around the world just to see you run.  
  
"Damn it," Clarice Starling muttered as she eased to a halt, pressing the heels of her hands hard against her temples. After only having gone about half a mile, she turned to go straight back home, keeping her pace at a slow walk to try and avoid those words from returning to her head.  
  
**********  
  
"It's only been one fucking year, Starling. Of course you're still freaked out," Ardelia said to her friend, with a pointed jab of her fork towards the ceiling. "He was Hannibal Lecter, probably the most feared and well known criminal in the history of the United States. You were being held prisoner, which would have been perfectly bad enough if you weren't running the risk of turning into hors doeurves."  
  
Clarice just nodded vaguely as she focused on the careful French-braiding of Ardelia's thick hair. With them both in their pajamas, and the remains of several courses containing mostly sugar, the evening had taken on a pleasurable sleepover sort of a quality. It seemed that, for once, she might be able to have a comfortable evening without ending up dwelling on the events of twelve months ago. Then Mapp had to go and ask how her jog had been earlier that day, and things had gone downhill from there.  
  
Ardelia, though admittedly not the most observant of people most of the time, could not help but interpret the silence behind her. Very well, a change of topic seemed in order, and thought it didn't seem completely congruent to the situation, she decided it time to bring up a topic that she'd been thinking on for a good deal of time.  
  
"You know, Starling. It might help if..." Mapp paused, as she considered carefully the phrasing to use. It was a delicate subject, after all. "You got out more. Maybe... met some people?"  
  
"I don't need a blind date, Mapp," Clarice replied, with a good-natured tug to her friend's hair before fastening the whole thing with an elastic band. "Or any date, for that matter."  
  
"But this guy is perfect for you, Starling, really. I met him at the gym. He's attractive, clean-shaven, polite, and a brain surgeon... so he must be smart... and from what I've seen at the gym he had a more than adequate bundle in his shorts."  
  
Clarice couldn't help but laugh at that last line, delivered so primly, and gave a light smack to the back of Ardelia's head. "Bad Mapp. More cheesecake?"  
  
Still, as she sliced the last cheesecake clean down the middle (one half for each of them), she remembered Dr. Lecter popping the top of Agent Krendler's head off, and wondered if this blind date that Mapp so badly wanted her to go with had ever done that. Popped open someone's skull.  
  
**********  
  
1 'Jesus,' Clarice found herself thinking as she shook Dr. Gregory Smythe's hand. 'How the hell did I get talked into this one.' On the outside she put on a cheerful smile, and tried to remember just exactly how one was supposed to play this dating game.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Smythe. I'm Clarice Starling."  
  
"Of course, of course. I recognized you immediately... the gunpowder beauty mark on your cheek. Miss Mapp has mentioned it before," the brain surgeon replied, with a warm smile. "And please, call me Greg. Shall we?"  
  
Clarice found herself analyzing this man as he followed her into the restaurant that was to be the setting of their date. He was good-looking, as Ardelia said. Reminded her of Johnny Brigham somehow.  
  
The baby blanket flutters, she sees Brigham hitting the ground, his facemask filling with blood.  
  
She gave a firm shake of her head to quell those images, and determined in that moment that she was going to have a pleasant evening, and not think again of anything that happened in the past six months. No Evelda, no shootout, no Krendler... and definitely no Lecter.  
  
**********  
  
It was well past two in the morning by the time she was delivered home by the courteous Greg. She felt light-hearted, as she hadn't in a long time. The good-night kiss that he gave her was brief and sweet, and when he'd gone she danced briefly around the house to express her pleasure at freeing herself, if only for a night.  
  
'Only a night for now,' she corrected the thought, knowing it would get continually easier for her. She knew that the lightness in her spirit would continue to grow, until she was floating above the clouds again. She would be able to do real work at the FBI again, not merely a mole that they sent on errands.  
  
Ardelia was right. This was the beginning of a new life, she could tell.  
  
Of course, it wasn't long before she collapsed face first onto her bed, the champagne finally getting the better of her.  
  
She didn't dream.  
  
**********  
  
A year had passed since the last time he saw her, but for in his memory. Even that was unreliable, as memories fade. Get fuzzy. Get dull. The only thing that remained perfectly sharp in his mind was her smell, the scents that had associated themselves with Agent Starling in his mind. That was quite enough to sustain him, too, for it wouldn't do to get himself incarcerated again. Not after all these years of remembering how exquisite freedom felt.  
  
But this was a very special occasion. It was nearing the anniversary of Paul Krendler's death, Clarice Starling's introduction to fine cuisine, and the loss of his hand to save his life. More importantly, it was to be the anniversary of their last meeting. Indeed, a very special occasion, one that he could not, in good conscience, leave unrecognized.  
  
He played the piano while he considered this, his fingers effortlessly picking out the notes of songs that he composed over the years he spent in retirement in beautiful Florence. The music always helped him think, and such an important thing this was to debate. There were risks, terrible risks.  
  
Such as - Would she prefer the almond hand cream as a present, or the ginger?  
  
  
  
  
  
*Please R&R! It would make me so happy... let me know if it's good enough to continue with. I'm having a lovely time writing it.* 


	2. Chapter Two

2  
  
Clarice Starling was jarred out of a trance by Ardelia shouting out the time, as she'd been doing every fifteen minutes for two hours. Just to make sure that her friend didn't lose track of the time, and her concern in that area just proved to be well founded. For the past fifteen minutes Clarice had been staring distantly at her reflection in the full-length mirror, and now that she'd resumed blinking she went back to that careful examination.  
  
She was wearing a blue dress, that Mapp had forced her into borrowing. Knee length, soft silky fabric, spaghetti straps. It really was a nice dress, and fit her better than she expected. Now, the only question was whether or not she looked like she was trying too hard.  
  
"'Delia," she said uncertainly as she walked back into living room, smoothing the cool fabric down over her stomach. "I don't think..."  
  
Ardelia didn't even give her a chance to finish that sentence. "Damn, you do look good. You can borrow some high heels, of course. I still can't believe you don't own a single fancy dress. Now hurry, Starling, he'll be here in fifteen minutes."  
  
Well, so much for that, Clarice thought as she went and claimed the offered pair of shoes out of her friend's closet, and tried to concentrate on calming the butterflies in her stomach. After seeing Dr. Smythe for a week, you'd think I wouldn't be so damn uncomfortable.  
  
It seemed like only seconds after she finished trapping her red hair into a French twist that the doorbell rang, and she heard Greg's voice in the living room. She took a deep breath, smoothed her dress again, and went out to greet him.  
  
**********  
  
The restaurant was small, but sophisticated, and the noise from the surrounding tables was soft enough to allow for light conversation. The table that they had was off in the corner, with just enough shadows to make it more of an intimate setting.  
  
Somewhere in the back of her mind Clarice noted that they'd both chosen one of the few dishes that didn't contain garlic. Then she nearly started laughing at herself, as she realized just how deeply paranoia had rooted itself in her mind.  
  
"So, Greg, how was work today?" the agent asked, after swallowing a bite of her salad.  
  
Gregory just gave her a wry grin, and a shrug. "It was how it always is. I had one interesting surgery. A man had a small tumor in his pre-frontal lobe, which we had to go in and remove."  
  
The good doctor standing, with his scalpel indicating a section of Paul's brain... the seat of good manners... Agent Krendler chewing with obvious pleasure.  
  
"Are you okay, Clare?'  
  
Clarice gave a firm shake of her head to clear those images, and managed a smile for her date. "Fine, Greg. Just got lost in my thoughts for a minute there. What were you saying?"  
  
"I was just asking how your day went?"  
  
"Fine. Just... fine."  
  
**********  
  
After she pushed that momentary flashback out of her mind, the evening passed in a pleasant blur. Salads, dinner, and even a piece of cheesecake that they shared between them passed with laughter and conversation, and again Starling found herself feeling happy. A rare thing, since her disgrace in the FBI, and the days of drudgery that followed.  
  
The car ride home was taken slowly, but they arrived at Ardelia and Clarice's home far too soon. Clarice, somehow, didn't want the evening to end... she had the unsettling feeling that it would never be the same after this night. She knew, really, that she was being ridiculous, that premonitions didn't exist. But, for the first time, she was the one to reach out for a kiss, wanting to make the night last just a little longer.  
  
It worked, actually, and it was another hour before she was wandering into the house and Gregory's taillights were vanishing into the fog that had settled on the street. It had been a perfect evening, and she was still smiling when she walked into her room. There, laying on her pillow, was a bouquet of roses.  
  
"Greg," she murmured to herself, and sat on the bed to bury her face in them. She noticed, once she was close enough to smell them, that they weren't all roses in fact. A dozen red ones, each alike in their beauty, but in the middle of the cluster of flowers was a perfectly formed lily.  
  
"Oh Greg," she whispered again, plucking out that spot of white to hold against her cheek. He was a very intellectual man, Dr. Smythe was. There was probably some meaning to the beautiful lily, but there was no note. She'd just have to ask him the next time they went out together.  
  
Once her lovely flowers were put into water, she changed into an over sized T-shirt for the night, and lay down with the decision to savor each moment of the night. The dinner, the conversation... the kisses. The kisses were, perhaps, the best part - she'd been without romance for so long, having given up her life to her career.  
  
She pulled her blankets up to her chin, ready to drift off to sleep while remembering Greg's lips.  
  
But just before sleep overtook her, it was another kiss that captured her thoughts, a kiss unlike any other. The words that he said, just before kissing her, echoed in her sleep.  
  
That's my girl.  
  
**********  
  
Barney disliked this man immediately. After having spent so many years looking after the loonies, he also fancied himself a fairly good judge of character - and this fellow's character was significantly lacking in any redeeming features.  
  
"What do you want with Clarice Starling?" Barney asked in his usual gently gruff way, as he busied himself making coffee for his unexpected 'guest'.  
  
The stranger has his hands crossed neatly atop his crossed legs, and was wearing an expression of the utmost calm. Patronizing calm, as though dealing with someone of a 'lower' class. "Well, Mr..."  
  
"Just Barney is fine."  
  
"Barney. Well, Barney, we have reason to be concerned about Agent Starling's safety. As I'm sure you know, Mr. Lecter..."  
  
Barney interrupted at that, correcting this odd fellow with "Dr. Lecter. Doctor."  
  
"As you wish. Dr. Lecter, though his competence as a doctor is obviously in question. Dr. Lecter escaped about eleven years ago from the facility in which you were taking care of him, and for ten of those years he stayed quiet, living in Florence. Last year he resurfaced for the sole purpose of stalking Agent Starling. We, of course, are concerned about her safety from this murderer."  
  
There was silence for several moments, in which Barney prepared the coffee, and set two mugs down on the low table in front of his couch, within easy reach of both he, and the stranger. Then he spoke.  
  
"I don't think you need to be worried on Agent Starling's behalf, sir. The doctor has had opportunities to kill her before. She's been perfectly polite to him, and he has no reason to risk his freedom just to attack her." There was a brief pause while he considered the face of the fellow sitting across from him. "And she strikes me as the type that can take care of herself against the likes of him."  
  
The laugh that the man gave just cemented Barney's opinion of him. Smarmy, to the lowest degree. "You're just how you were described to me. Yes, well, we still must cover all the bases. We would like to catch Dr. Lecter, and your help in that matter would be greatly appreciated."  
  
"If I think of anything that might help you, I'll be sure and let you know."  
  
"You do that. Here's my card, call the number on the back. It's my cell phone, and you'll be sure to get hold of me. Thank you for your -valuable- time, Mr. Barney."  
  
*********  
  
Clarice was woken in the morning by someone knocking, quite insistently, on the front door. A glance at the clock showed it to be about eleven o'clock in the morning, and she determined from that that she really had no right to get testy with whoever it was for waking her up, seeing as she'd slept in to such an abnormal hour.  
  
"Coming," she shouted, as she hopped her way into the nearest pair of jeans, so she could answer the door looking like a somewhat normal person.  
  
It turned out to be Greg. Lovely Greg, with a bundle of bright red carnations in one hand, her mail in the other, and a dashingly handsome smile on his face. "Thought I'd stop by and see you on my lunch break," he said, holding out both his offerings.  
  
Clarice took the mail first, looked like mostly bills and some sort of package, and put it on the handy table beside the door. The flowers she took, and went in search of a vase to keep them fresh.  
  
"This is really too much, Greg," she said as she placed the carnations on the opposite side of the room from the bouquet of roses. If he kept this up for long her living room would look like a bower... and, while that wasn't really her style, she wasn't minding this. Not one bit. Pleasant, to be pampered in a way that she never had been before.  
  
Dr. Smythe just chuckled as he came in behind her, and gave her a quick kiss on the back of her neck. "Nothing's too good for you, Clare. I have to dash though, I have somewhere else I have to be. But I had a minute... and you were on my mind. Happy Fourth of July, darling."  
  
They shared a brief good-bye kiss, before he was off again.  
  
It wasn't a pleasant reminder that the Fourth had arrived. A year, then, to this very day... but no, she shouldn't dwell on such things. "At least it turned out to be a pleasant awakening," the agent muttered to herself, as she went to grab the mail beside the door.  
  
There wasn't anything too interesting, really. Bill, bill, bill... Happy Fourth of July from your dentist card. Then the package. She opened this without much of a look at the label, expecting it would be the books she'd ordered awhile back, on-line. It only took a second to slit the tape with her pocket-knife, and take off the top layer of foam. A bit odd, padding books with foam...  
  
It took a minute to process what she was seeing. Beneath the foam a letter sat atop a layer of pellets. The letter was addressed simply 'Clarice', in a handwriting she knew as well as her own, so often had she studied every detail of it.  
  
Her calm as she set the box aside to go get a few tools was unnerving. She had expected to be in more of an upset if ever she should hear from him again, but once the copperplate had been recognized... her business frame of mind took over again. She donned a pair of gloves to preserve any fingerprints that may be on the package or its contents, and found a pair of tweezers. Then back to the box, to find out what the good doctor wanted now.  
  
As she slit the envelope and began to unfold the letter within, she realized her hands were shaking. She bit down on her lip rather viciously, to still herself, and lowered her eyes to the letter.  
  
My dearest Clarice,  
  
A year has passed, as I'm sure you're fully aware, since our last meeting at the late Agent Krendler's house. I felt that such a notable date ought not go unrecognized as so many important things occurred that night, far more important than Agent Krendler's passing. Enclosed in this package are a few gifts that I thought may please you, Clarice. I had them made especially for you, not an easy thing when so many now know my face. It is an inconvenience, but never fear, Clarice, I am always as cautious as I can be without sinking back into retirement. Happy Fourth of July, Clarice, and happy Anniversary.  
  
I hope you liked the roses.  
  
Ta-ta,  
  
Hannibal Lecter, M.D.  
  
P.S. As an after-thought I've enclosed two things that made me think of you. The pressed flower is White Periwinkle, the needles are from a Cedar of Lebanon.  
  
H.L.  
  
Clarice looked at the two dried plants that had tumbled into her hand, realized the roses she so loved and had discovered in her room were, in fact, from the good doctor... and realized, at the same time, that she could scarcely breathe.  
  
It seemed like it was starting all over again.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: I just wanted to thank Aello, clevergirl, Nanci, and vampinslo for reviewing! Also, in case for some reason it wasn't clear, I'm now putting angle brackets around Clarice's thoughts/memories. Just to makes things easier. Yeah. Thank you! 


	3. Chapter Three

3  
  
Starling's day was blurred after that moment. If asked, she would likely not be able to tell you exactly what happened in the hours following her phone call to the F.B.I., right up to that evening, when she was sent home to contemplate the world in the dark of her own home.  
  
It was with an inexplicable degree of sadness that she walked up the front steps to her door, and pushed her way inside. The door was unlocked, but she thought very little of that, since she was in such a hurry when she flew out that morning.  
  
She walked into the living room, and cast an eye at the table that had borne the roses. It looked empty now, without that elegant bouquet giving it color. It seemed wrong, that she should miss anything that Dr. Lecter had given her, but knowing that her roses were in a lab somewhere now... dusted over with powder, dissected, crushed by the clumsy fingers of the police. Well, it was hard, after they'd given her so much pleasure.  
  
A noise behind her broke that disturbing train of thoughts, causing her to spin around and slap her hand hard against her hip where her gun would usually be. It wasn't there. Fortunately she didn't need it, once she saw who it was that had sneaked their way in.  
  
"Greg," Clarice said, and hurried forward to throw her arms around him in an unusual display of affection. Or desperation, perhaps, to come in contact with another human being, someone she knew she could trust to not be working against her. "How did you get in?"  
  
"Hey Clare... I came as soon as I heard," Dr. Smythe replied, with a kiss to Clarice's red hair. "The door was unlocked."  
  
"I'm glad you came. I think I was about to go insane. How did you hear?"  
  
"Ardelia called me. Did you have any idea that you were going to hear from him again, Clare? Did he tell you that he'd keep in touch?" Greg asked gently, taking her hands to lead her to sit on the couch.  
  
Clarice gave a rather unconvincing laugh, and shook her head. "If he'd said that, I think I'd have moved to another country. I thought... or I at least hoped... that he was gone for good. I did."  
  
"A nasty surprise, then, I guess. I'd always heard that you and he had a sort of rapport though... he probably wouldn't hurt you, would he?" he asked, looking quite concerned for her health as he held her hand tight in his own cool fingers.  
  
"A rapport? No. We were honest. We had an understanding of sorts. I don't know whether or not he'd hurt me, but he probably would... if it were more convenient, if he couldn't manage it another way," Starling replied, trying to sound confident in her response, and trying to block out the images from the past.  
  
This is going to hurt a lot... the cleaver coming down, the blood spurting from the severed wrist, and Dr. Lecter... silent through it all  
  
As though reading her mind, the current doctor pressed on. "He did save your hand, though, Clarice. Wouldn't you think that a sign of affection? After all, it would have been far more convenient to take yours off than his."  
  
Clarice. He hadn't called her that since their first date, and now she gave him a narrow-eyed look. He was acting very strange, for him, and she didn't like it. "I'd... rather not talk about it right now, Greg. I've been through it a thousand times today, and that's not how one wants to spend their Fourth of July, and I'd rather let it go for the evening. I'll have reporters of all kinds on my door-step tomorrow. Hannibal Lecter is going to be discussed plenty, I don't need you to start in on it too."  
  
"I'm sorry, Clare. You must be tired. I'll just tuck you in, and let you alone then, all right?  
  
"All right."  
  
**********  
  
But she couldn't sleep. He'd left hours before, but still Clarice could not sleep. She continued playing that last exchange over and over in her mind. He was so probing, so determined... but he let it go so easily. Why?  
  
"You're being ridiculous, girl," she grumbled at herself, throwing back her covers to go get herself a cold glass of water.  
  
She walked down the hall only to find the kitchen light already on. Ardelia was busy at work, all set up with two beers, and a supply of cold pizza on two plates, set on opposite sides of the table. She knew this late night powwow was coming, and wasn't the least bit surprised by Clarice's appearance in the doorway.  
  
"I know you prefer wine for the most part, Starling, but beer is all we've got at the moment, and I think you could use it."  
  
Her own voice crying... 'I'd really like some wine'  
  
"Beer's fine," Clarice replied shakily, and perched on the edge of the table with the beverage in hand. The cold amber liquid felt absolutely heavenly sliding down her throat, much more satisfying than the water would have been had she gotten her hands on it.  
  
Ardelia sat down, and took a big bite out of her pizza. Silence reigned while she chewed, and fixed Clarice with a solemn stare. When she'd swallowed, she said one word to start the flood of explanation.  
  
"Spill."  
  
**********  
  
Tabloids were of no interest to Dr. Lecter, even when they were mentioning his name - as they did do so often, to accuse him of various crimes throughout the ages, each more ridiculous than the last. Yet on this day when he stopped by the local store for a few ingredients for the evening's dinner, one headline caught his eye.  
  
It was the Enquirer, forgoing its usual titles of women impregnated by Elvis, or werewolf children, for something that some would fine infinitely more believable, unfortunately enough. It read as follows:  
  
*Cannibal Romance?*  
  
*A shocking undercover feature from Gregory Smythe.*  
  
The picture under this title was a grainy photo of Agent Starling's face.  
  
Dr. Lecter bought it, and gave a pleasant wink at the young lady who was his cashier.  
  
**********  
  
  
  
It took several minutes for it to sink in, what she was reading.  
  
Ardelia had woken her up before her alarm clock went off, with the Enquirer clenched in her fist, looking like she'd be happiest if she had the opportunity to shove it down 'Dr' Smythe's throat.  
  
Clarice just couldn't believe it. Even when looking at the photo of the author she recognized every detail of his handsome face, it seemed unreal to her. She shook her head, and took a deep breath. "Can't be real, Ardy. Why would he bother going out with me for so long if it was just to... I mean, he had absolutely no way of knowing that Dr. Lecter would get in contact with me."  
  
"I imagine that he was planning on doing a piece about your previous interactions with the good doctor," Mapp replied, looking thoughtfully at the gun on Starling's nightstand. "And then this golden opportunity fell in his lap, and he couldn't resist."  
  
"He said... and I quote, here, 'Agent Starling recently received a love letter and a package filled with romantic gifts from her admirer, along with a bouquet of red roses to signify their passion.'" She flung the magazine at the wall with satisfying anger. "How the hell could he know about the presents? That hadn't been released. Or the roses, or the letter even... I didn't tell him any of that. 'Love letter', 'romantic', 'passion.' Hardly. But how did he know?"  
  
Ardelia shifted uncomfortably, drawing Clarice's eye to her. The expression on her friend's face was enough to give it away.  
  
"You told him?"  
  
"Well... how the hell was I to know that he was a shit-eating swamp snake coated in putrid green slime?" Mapp said, somehow furious and remorseful at the same time.  
  
"Shit. This is bad, Mapp. You know the F.B.I will pick up on this."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"They'll start investigating again."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"The bastard."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Ardelia held out her arms to give Clarice a hug as the first tear went coursing down her cheek.  
  
**********  
  
Lecter had made good time. It took him less than a day after finding the article in the Enquirer to get on a plane, and get where he needed to go. To get a hotel reservation under his false identity, and get himself set up with a rental car for his convenience. He had to forgo the finer of the automobiles, as he knew that they'd be watching rental places again with the investigation again becoming 'hot', after his recent correspondence with Agent Starling.  
  
All that in less than a day, and he was pleased. He'd been concerned that he wouldn't be able to get himself set up quickly enough, and he would half to further delay making plans for a fancy... dinner.  
  
There was only one Smythe, G. in the phone book.  
  
A week should be long enough to make preparations, and so Dr. Lecter made himself comfortable with a fine wine and a stack of paper, with his own pen. A letter would seem in order. The reporters and journalists were already swarming over Clarice again, like moths drawn to a flame, and all had come full-circle again.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: I want to thank Abbadon the Bad One, Victoria, arachniphiliac, and Nanci again! for reviewing my beloved story. Grrrr on Mr. Smythe. He makes me mad ^.^ I'm having a lovely time. I hope everyone continues enjoying it! 


	4. Chapter Four

4  
  
Clarice arrived home, after going to dinner with Ardelia, to find her message machine flooded with calls. Five from Greg the Snake, four from her boss, another four from more tabloid journalists who wanted to question her on her mad love affair with the cannibal, and a few mixed throughout from legitimate journalists who seemed to have remembered that Lecter was an interesting case, and suddenly wanted to do pieces about him.  
  
She fast-forwarded through most of them, all the ones from Greg, all the ones from the journalists, and listened only to the messages left by her boss. They all said basically the same thing: "We have a problem."  
  
"No shit," the agent muttered, kicked off her boots, and went to pour out a glass of wine for herself. She needed it, and it was a welcome feeling to be able to just sit alone, sipping at the cold drink, and blocking out all that had transpired. Block out the letter, the gifts, the Enquirer, and all the hell she was sure to face when she finally called back her superiors to see what was to become of her. Already she was hanging on to her job by a thread, after the last Lecter encounter. She looked at the table in front of her couch, with its Lecter files in a neat little pile, where she set them after bringing them home earlier.  
  
"If only you could see me now, papa," she murmured, and raised her glass to the ceiling in a toast. To what, she really couldn't say.  
  
**********  
  
The hotel room he had was satisfactory. The menu not of the highest class, but enough to do in the short period he planned to remain. Yet on this night he was not sitting in comfort in his room to plan, or play. Rather, he was sitting with patience in his rented car, across the street from the house that Clarice had moved into with Agent Mapp, waiting until the time was right.  
  
Just as his watch ticked to one o'clock, Ardelia's light went out. He swung open his car door, and adjusted his coat once he'd risen from his seat. As always, his appearance was impeccable.  
  
He entered the house easily, and in utter silence. He'd determined on his first visit here which room belonged to Agent Starling. It was the one devoid of personality and color, without photos of friends and family hanging on the walls, without so much as a pleasant knick-knack to personalize her home. Right now the only thing cluttering her tabletops were the unopened files about him. That was, in a way, darkly ironic in view of her situation.  
  
Her bedroom door was partially open, and Hannibal entered without the slightest squeak to give his presence away. There she was, clad in an oversized T-shirt as was customary for her. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow around her. Her face was half-lit with moonlight streaming in through a crack in her curtains, which plunged the other half of her face equally into darkness.  
  
The doctor considered this for a moment, before moving forward to sit on the side of her bed. She didn't wake, merely murmured something in her sleep, with breath tasting of sweet grapes. What she murmured in this sleeping state gave him reason to pause, but just for a moment. He reached out a hand towards her face, and left his fingers extended above her lips, with only the barest distance to keep them from touching... and he could feel her breath. One finger dropped. He traced the curve of her bottom lip with that finger, and gave only the slightest of smiles through the darkness. That was all he wanted.  
  
Back in the living room he drew a letter from inside his jacket. He unfolded it, and sketched something quickly on the bottom of the single page, beneath his signature. The note he left on top of the folders concerning him, and atop the note he left another flower. A single forget- me-not, set right beside her name.  
  
His business complete, he left to return to his hotel, and await the morning.  
  
Let the games begin.  
  
**********  
  
Clarice's sleep was broken in a most unpleasant way. She had even been having a good dream, which had been unanticipated under the circumstances. But right in the middle of her dreamings, a scream pierced the veil of sleep, and sent her launching out of bed and straight into the living room. Where she found Mapp, looking as though she'd just seen a ghost, and the ghost asked her if she wanted fries with that.  
  
"Ardelia?" Clarice asked, heart beating fast with the sudden surge of adrenaline through her system. "What the hell was that?"  
  
Her friend took a minute to respond. When her breath had been caught, with difficulty, she ended up not using it. Words, she decided, could not do justice what had made her respond in so childish a fashion. Rather than speak, she just pointed, one slender finger to the stack of files on the coffee table.  
  
Starling advanced cautiously, half-expecting to see a spider, rodent, severed head, or something of that ilk, sitting beside her case files. What she actually found was considerably more frightening, and she could feel her breath catching in her chest as she read the sweeping letter stroked across the front of the papers.  
  
"Ardie... call the damn police. Tell them Dr. Lecter has been in our damn house, and another letter has been sent. I'm going to get some gloves and read the damn letter."  
  
*  
  
Dearest Clarice,  
  
I find I must apologize for intruding in on your home without an invitation, but it was necessary to my current plans. I would have called ahead, but I did not want to wake you, and I'm quite glad. You look so very much at peace when you're asleep, Clarice, much different from the constant strain in your eyes when you are awake. I think this must mean the lambs have stopped screaming, am I right?  
  
What you said, however, when I momentarily disturbed your rest, makes me think the silence of the lambs has been filled with something else. You said my name, Clarice, in such a way that it put me in mind of the last time we met, when we attended dinner at Paul Krendler's home. But I should not bring that up, as my reason for writing this is not to bring up any bad memories.  
  
I just wanted to remind you what I said a year ago, Clarice. All you need is a mirror. There is nothing that any of those torpid, inept, and acerebral colleagues of yours can truly take away, as it is all inside you. Your dear sweet daddy was shot like a dog despite his prestigious job, yet if he'd not had that badge he'd still have been the same man that you loved. The F.B.I. doesn't define you, Clarice. Your situation doesn't define you. You define it.  
  
I shall have to invite you to dinner soon.  
  
Ta-ta.  
  
Sincerely, your pal,  
  
Hannibal Lecter M.D.  
  
*  
  
Beneath his signature was a drawing of her, sketched hastily but skillfully, half shrouded by shadow, half illuminated by moonlight. It made her feel slightly ill, knowing that he'd been there in her room. Been there long enough to draw her, evidently. In great detail.  
  
Clarice had to reach up to harshly rub away a tear before it could fall, confused once more by the doctor. In their previous encounters, each time, he gave her hope when there seemed to be none in sight - made her feel as though there was, indeed, enough hope left to hold, rather than just grasp at like straws.  
  
She placed the letter back down where she found it, and picked up the flower in turn. The forget-me-not. "Forget?" she murmured to herself, staring at the sweet little flower. "Not much of a chance of that, doctor."  
  
It was lucky (or not lucky, depending on your view) that Ardelia walked back in at that moment. "They're coming, Starling. What did the bastard have to say this..." The last word was stillborn on her lips as she caught sight of the flower in her friend's fingers. Somehow the sight of it set off a bell ringing in her head, and she made an about face to go flying back into her room.  
  
Starling barely had time to put the flower down and start after Mapp, when the agent returned with a thick book open in her hands. Mapp's lips were moving quickly, searching in earnest for something on the page. When, at last, she succeeded in finding it, she gave a triumphant shout, and thrust the book toward Clarice.  
  
"Read this, Starling! Does that ring a bell, at all?" she asked, thrusting the book over, looking pleased that she may have figured out the meaning behind Lecter's sudden interest in botany.  
  
"Cedar of Lebanon: Incorruptible," Clarice murmured, after finding the first plant mentioned in the first letter. Incorruptible. That was how he described her. What was the next one? "White periwinkle... white... white... ah. White Periwinkle: Pleasure of memory/pleasant recollections. Yeah. That sounds like him."  
  
"What about the forget-me-not?"  
  
"Well, Mapp, I thought that one was painfully self-evident," Clarice responded dryly, and set the book aside. "But its good you found this. Perhaps it'll be of help if he sends more plants."  
  
Ardelia gave a nod, and a final thoughtful look towards the purple flower left behind. "I'll just make coffee then, shall I?"  
  
After her friend had left the room, Clarice picked up the book again. She was just flipping through it, really, but somehow she found her way to the f-s. Then the fo-s. So on, and so forth. She was apprehensive about what it might mean, if the meaning indeed differed from the obvious 'don't forget me', and that was her reason for waiting until she had a moment alone.  
  
Her finger had just traced down a column to fall on her target, 'forget-me- not', when the police arrived... and she slammed the book shut without reading the description. It could wait. She had to get back into the proper mindset now, and find a way to catch this murderer.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Ah, my thanks again go out to Steel, The Rest Of Me, and tourn. Thank you so much, peoples! I'm hard at work on the fifth chapter. 


	5. Chapter Five

5  
  
Clarice sat with her legs crossed, and her hands folded neatly in her lap as she listened to her superiors discussing her fate. Or, rather, trying not to listen. What they were saying had less to do with her than it did with themselves, so she allowed her mind to wander off into the past.  
  
You fell in love with the Bureau, only to discover... it does not love you back  
  
The man sitting on her left threw her a sharp look. "Are you cold, Agent Starling?" he asked, voice containing poorly concealed contempt.  
  
She tilted her head to look at him, keeping her voice even despite the frustration hardening in the pit of her stomach. "No sir. Why do you ask?"  
  
"You just shivered."  
  
"No sir."  
  
Do you know why they resent you, Clarice?… They resent you because you're not like them  
  
She managed not to shiver again, with the doctor's silken tones running through her mind. The feeling was increasing with every moment, every memory - she was missing something. Something important. Something, perhaps, that would help them all immeasurably if she could just remember what it was. It was that infuriating feeling, too, of something being right there... just barely out of reach, buried in her memories.  
  
"Do you understand, Agent Starling?" a deep voice cut through her thoughts.  
  
"I'm sorry sir, I was thinking. What was that?" she replied, though she was loathe to let the torpid, inept, acerebral colleagues of hers know that she had not been paying attention.  
  
The man who had spoken frowned at her for a moment, to try and express his disapproval of her, before repeating the decision that the group of them had made. "You, Agent Starling, will be put into protective custody, as well as Agent Mapp. Your home will be monitored for further contact from Lecter. Most importantly, you are not to pursue him or seek him out, regardless of our findings. As long as that is understood, we will keep you posted on the progress made by Agent Thorp."  
  
Agent Thorp. A very skilled, talented Agent, Clarice knew that full well. But she had to protest, as she knew that Hannibal Lecter wouldn't care in the slightest whether or not the person they sent was a skilled, talented Agent. It wouldn't be her. "Sir, I'm the one that Dr. Lecter responds to. If you send someone else after him, you won't..."  
  
"Agent Starling!" The man interrupted, slapping one hand on top of the table in anger that was not at all proportionate to whatever offense he seemed to think she was causing. "You are under the suspicion of having an affair with a known criminal, and perhaps aiding in his escape on multiple occasions. If we send you after him, you may as well kiss your job, your life, and your ass good-bye. Particularly if he got away again."  
  
Starling's jaw clenched at that, but she gave a stiff nod to indicate her understanding, and agreement to these terms. The man raised his hand from the tabletop, and flicked his fingers at the person sitting on her right, who then rose and escorted her out the door, to a car waiting to take her, first home to get together a few things, and then to their decided safe house. Mapp was already inside.  
  
Before climbing into the car Clarice turned for another look at the building that she had devoted so many years of her life to. It was heartbreaking to turn her back on it, climb into the car, and drive away with the knowledge that she had no hopes of rebuilding her career.  
  
It's you I'm worried about... I'm fine, Dr. Lecter... No, you're most certainly not fine...  
  
She could hear the doctor saying that, and this time she knew it to be true.  
  
**********  
  
Dr. Lecter watched, through the lenses of his high quality binoculars, as the unmarked car pulled smoothly away from the curb, bearing its special cargo to a supposedly safe destination... he could just barely see a hint of her flaming red hair through the window, at this distance.  
  
"See you soon... Clarice," he murmured to himself, and leisurely started up his car, softly humming the Goldberg Variations.  
  
**********  
  
"Without a doubt, this is the most fucking ludicrous thing I've ever heard in my entire life," Ardelia stated, pleasant in her anger, as she tossed her knapsack into one of the dilapidated armchairs that graced their new home.  
  
Clarice just sighed her agreement, and doubtfully went to open the fridge. "Ardy, I think you're going to have to retract that statement, once you hear what they've given us to eat," she said dryly, and momentarily reappeared in the living room with a beer in each hand. "But, they did supply us with plenty to drink."  
  
Mapp just snorted as she reached out to accept her beverage. "Even if all they gave us was spam and Eggo waffles I don't think it could beat this."  
  
"Well. They also gave us some frozen French fries," Clarice replied, solemn as she popped the top off her bottle, and took a long swallow.  
  
"You and I are living the high life now, my friend!" Ardelia said, with her tone dripping with sarcasm. She was not at all pleased with being wrenched from her comfortable home, and comfortable life. No matter the danger. "Now, Clarice, since we're alone... I really need to have a serious discussion with you."  
  
"'Bout what, Ardy?"  
  
"About your taste in men, quite frankly. First that creep you told me about, from high school... Simon? Then Hannibal the Cannibal, then Greg-The- Snake. This isn't a good record, hon."  
  
Clarice just glared at her for a moment, trying to show just how very not amusing she found that statement to be... yet she spoiled it with a flicker of a smile.  
  
"Seriously, Starling, you keep falling for the ones that hurt you. I mean, falling for one asshole is bad enough, but..."  
  
Clarice tuned her out at that point, thinking frantically. It had come to her, thanks to those words from her friend. 'The ones that hurt you.' 'Greg- The-Snake.'  
  
Hey Clarice, how about I do it for you? Hurt them. The ones that have hurt you  
  
"Damnit!" Clarice shouted, causing Ardelia to stop short with her eyes widened in surprise.  
  
Clarice didn't hesitate for a minute, not even to stop her beer from spilling where she knocked it over, after jumping out of her chair. She went straight to the door that led to the room where their so-called 'bodyguard' was waiting for them. More like their jailor. "Agent Foster? Agent Foster, I need to make a phone call!"  
  
A voice, sounding bored and completely uninterested in the source of her panic drifted back through the door. "No phone calls. Mr. Pledge gave me explicit instructions."  
  
Ten minutes of coaxing, commanding, explaining and threatening got her nowhere.  
  
All this time Mapp looked on with worry that her friend was, perhaps, going insane... and her anxiety was in no way lessened when she got no explanation. Clarice just went into her bedroom, and locked the door. It stayed that way all evening.  
  
**********  
  
Bzzzzz.  
  
Bzzzzz.  
  
Bzzzzz.  
  
Clarice woke from her fitful slumber to that noise, buzzing somewhere in her room. For a few minutes she thought, perhaps, it was something out of her dream as it stopped once she was fully awake. But five minutes later it began again, the same even buzzing.  
  
Bzzzzz.  
  
Bzzzzz.  
  
Bzzzzz.  
  
A pause, then the cycle repeated itself, while Clarice began searching, her mind muddled from sleep and confusion. The buzzing stopped. Five minutes later it began again, the exact same way... but it was barely through the fourth buzz when she finally found the source.  
  
Her bag. The clothes that she'd gathered together in such a rush. The slippers that she'd thrown in at the last minute. The cell phone tucked neatly away in the toe of the left slipper.  
  
She knew. She didn't even have to wonder, she just knew, without a doubt, who it would be. She pressed the button, and raised the cell phone to her ear, steeled for the voice she knew would come over the line. "Hello?"  
  
"Well hello, Clarice."  
  
"Dr. Lecter, don't do it."  
  
"My dear Clarice, whatever could you mean?"  
  
"Gregory Smythe, that's what I mean."  
  
"You're a clever girl, Clarice. No, I couldn't possibly do it. It's the middle of the night. I shall have to wait until tomorrow evening, for dinner. Care to join me?"  
  
"I've a feeling you know I can't, Dr. Lecter."  
  
"Ah yes," he murmured, amusement in his tone. "The protective custody. The F.B.I. has you, one of their own, imprisoned while I walk free the streets. Isn't it ironic?"  
  
"I suppose it is. You wouldn't have called if there wasn't something you wanted. What is it?"  
  
"Just the pleasure of your company, as I said."  
  
Clarice froze. Those words, his voice... it hadn't come from the phone. She spun around, and there he was. Her first sight of him after a full year, in this little rat's hole of an apartment, him dressed in an elegant suit, perfect for the sort of elegant dinner that she knew he had in mind. She found herself speechless.  
  
"It's too bad you're not wearing a dress, Clarice, like last time.... but your nightgown will serve well enough."  
  
Clarice looked down at herself, having forgotten that she'd donned one of her few actual nightgowns. White, strappy, lacy. Elegant. She opened her mouth to call for Ardelia, and Dr. Lecter was in front of her in an instant, his finger held up to her lips.  
  
"Hush, Clarice. You know better than that. If they knew I were here, they'd have to join our intimate dinner... and that wouldn't do at all, now would it?" he said, quietly.  
  
She shut her mouth, jaw tight as her body tensed from his nearness. Already she was searching for something, anything, that could be used a weapon against him. She even considered biting the finger that he held before her... but somehow couldn't quite bring herself to do it. It felt like that would almost bring her to his level. To make her the same as he was.  
  
Hannibal eyed her for a moment, with something close to fondness in his reddish-brown eyes, before he spoke again. "Now get your coat, Clarice. It's time to go. And remember... hush."  
  
She raised her eyes to meet his, felt a pang of something unidentifiable in her stomach... then silently went to get her jacket. There was nothing else for her to do. Not if she hoped, at all, to save Gregory's life.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: It's coming along well, no? I hope so. I'm loving writing it! I'd like to thank Diana, StrawberryLecter, BlueRoses, ZechsMerquise, Nanci, and Nanci! I'm loving Nanci. Three cheers for Nanci! ^.- 


	6. Chapter Six

6  
  
The car ride was nearly silent, without a word from either of them as the miles rolled by. He had permitted her to sit in the front seat, unbound, secure in the knowledge that she could not attack him or run away... not without endangering the vile man towards whom they were driving.  
  
Initially Clarice was trying to keep track of where they were going, so she could give directions to someone should she get the chance to call... but she soon realized that Dr. Lecter was taking a roundabout path, twisting this way and that so that directions would be near impossible to give. She gave up, and let her eyes wander to the face of the Most Wanted killer.  
  
"What do you see, Clarice?" Dr. Lecter asked, breaking the silence with that eerie accent... like fingers running up your spine.  
  
"What do you mean, Dr. Lecter?" Clarice replied, not missing the humor in the formality of their speech... despite the fact he was who he was, and she was who she was, and he was escorting her to a murder.  
  
"When you look at me," he continued, never taking his eyes from the road. "Do you feel revulsion? Does your flesh crawl... Clarice... knowing the things I've done, and the things I'm going to do? Do you see a madman?"  
  
"What I see and what I feel are two different things, Dr. Lecter. Which are you asking for?"  
  
A faint smile flickered across the man's mouth, and he turned his eyes to her as he slowed for a stoplight. "Touché, Clarice. But you are incorrect on that point... for example, you may see a see a pigeon dead on the sidewalk. If asked what you saw, you might say it was very sad, or it was disgusting, but those are feelings. No one ever says I saw a dead pigeon, with grey feathers and a broken neck. To most, seeing and feeling come together."  
  
"I'm not most, Dr. Lecter," Starling responded, trying to stay distant and cool despite the chills that were running along her flesh. The reference to a pigeon was unsettling, knowing the way he had likened her to one all those years ago, in his conversations with Barney.  
  
Agent Starling is a deep roller... let us hope one of her parents was not.  
  
The good doctor considered that for a moment, and gave an amiable nod. "No, Clarice, you a certainly not most. That is not a mistake that anyone, much less myself, could make once they got to know you. Very well, precision. What do you feel?"  
  
She knew better, by this point, than to lie to him, and she didn't even consider it. He always knew, somehow, some way. He could always tell when an untruth was spoken. The pause between his query and her response was used instead to figure out what she felt when she looked at him... so that she could be as precise as he would have. "Fear. Confusion. Longing."  
  
"Thank you for being so frank, Clarice. I appreciate your honesty. Now, tell me why. Why do you feel those things?"  
  
"I should think the first would be obvious. You're a murderer, obviously I'd be afraid."  
  
"Dig deeper, Agent Starling," he answered, putting a harsh emphasis on the title before her name. "Because I don't think that's the whole truth."  
  
"Well then, why don't you tell me, if you know all the answers Dr. Lecter."  
  
"Now don't start getting rude, Clarice. You know how I feel about that."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"It's quite all right. Your fear, though some of it would be very understandably from my questionable pastimes, I think is rooted deeper in your mind. I am, likely, your last chance. In the great F. B. I.. If I get away this time... that badge that you still cling to will be taken from you, and your life's work tossed away without a second thought. You fear failing, once and for all."  
  
Clarice didn't respond to that. She didn't know how to respond to that. She couldn't exactly agree, as she didn't know it to be true... but nor could she refute it, not knowing it to be false. Whichever one it was, it hurt. His innocent 'observations' always cut deep, whether they were directed at her shoes, or her fears.  
  
"Now the next, Clarice, let us continue. Confusion."  
  
The torment was to continue. "That one I think I can answer with perfect confidence of it being the truth, Dr. Lecter. I'm confused as to what you're doing here. What I'm doing here. Why you're doing this, why you saved my life, why you are the way you are, and what I'm supposed to do, and how I'll manage to save Mr. Smythe and arrest you without you killing me or him."  
  
"That I will accept at face value. You seem to have covered all the high points, but most of those I won't answer. Even if I could, if I answered them it would put me in a rather tight spot, now wouldn't it? But as for why you're with me... I just wanted the pleasure of your company, Clarice. Next!"  
  
Longing, the last answer she tacked on, almost as an afterthought. She was hoping that they'd reach their destination, or that he would be sidetracked before she had to analyze that feeling. But miles of highway were ahead, and she was stuck groping for the right words to explain it. "I long... to turn back the clock," she finally settled on. "For so many things."  
  
"Do elaborate."  
  
"The fish market. To undo what..." She swallowed hard, and decided to move on from that subject. "To the mall. To Verger's estate."  
  
"So you could apprehend me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And is that all, Clarice?"  
  
"Probably not. But it's enough."  
  
"I suppose it is. Ah. Perfect timing. We've arrived. Please, take my coat. It's gotten rather cold out tonight, and I wouldn't want you to get a chill in that nightgown, as we've got a bit of a walk ahead," Dr. Lecter said, reaching to the back seat to hand the coat to her.  
  
Clarice shrugged into the warmth of his jacket with only a moment's hesitation. He would insist on it anyhow, and it was cold outside. She could tell as much from the chill of the windows to the touch.  
  
The instant Hannibal stepped from the car, Starling began a hurried search for something to use as her weapon. Under the seat, even a quick check in the glove compartment... and it turned up nothing. She didn't have time for a thorough check anywhere, as it took only a few seconds for him to make his way around the car to open her door. She could have screamed with the knowledge that they were here, at last, and she had no way to defend herself.  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Lecter," she said with utter calm as he reached in to help her up.  
  
"Of course, Clarice. Watch your step, the path is a little overgrown."  
  
**********  
  
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes, and the bastard hadn't stumbled once. Clarice found herself more irritated about that than anything else. Not once did he lose his footing! While walking along a path that was more than overgrown, almost nonexistent, he remained as perfectly dignified, upright, and respectable as he always did. She was the one constantly catching her foot on this root or that, or tripping over her own feet. Of course, the fact that she was wearing a pair of fancy high heels wasn't helping any. Even worse, every time she tripped, he would reach out and catch her before she could go all the way down.  
  
Every touch reminded her of her situation. It was starting to get painful. She didn't know where they were, where they were going, and the only person who did know where she was... well, was Dr. Lecter. Not the best place to be, in a tight spot.  
  
"Ah, here we are," Hannibal announced with a smile in his voice... and indeed, there they were. Like a dream, in the midst of trees and darkness, and in the middle of nowhere, a shack appeared through the trees. More than a shack, almost a cottage... thought it could not quite be called a house.  
  
Somewhere in the back of Clarice's sleep-deprived mind she found herself wondering if it might be made out of gingerbread, and perhaps Greg would turn out to be just a gingerbread man... and Hannibal would be the Wicked Witch of the West, who chased the rabbit down the rabbit hole and up the beanstalk.  
  
"You don't look at all well, Clarice. Are you feeling all right?" Lecter asked softly, reaching out to grab hold of her arm as she stumbled again.  
  
The next course is to die for...  
  
"I'm fine, Dr. Lecter," Starling replied, with a faint gasp at the end of her words. She didn't want to go through it again, not again, not again. She didn't want to endure Paul Krendler all over again, this time with someone she actually once had feelings for. She didn't want to see...  
  
The knife slid into the red line around Paul's forehead, and gently pried off his head... his brain was red and shiny, exposed to the light... and he didn't even care, Krendler didn't even care  
  
"I can't do this, Dr. Lecter," she said, after getting only two steps closer to the door. She planted her feet as firmly as she could in those heels. "You're not giving me any sort of chance, and I can't do this. I can't watch you do this. I don't care what I have to do, I can't do this again."  
  
The look in Lecter's eyes was something that could be classified as fondness as they looked over face... fondness and amusement, mingled in his eyes as he tightened his fingers around her bicep. "Can do what, Clarice? Hmm? Can't watch me kill him, your beloved Greg? You don't have to."  
  
She was about to protest that it wasn't just the watching that she had a problem with... despite the fact that it was ridiculous to be arguing this matter. But something in his tone of voice stopped her cold, and her voice was lacking her usual confidence when she inquired. "What do you mean, Dr. Lecter?"  
  
"I mean, Clarice, that it would be poor manners for me to plan such an elaborate dinner, and not have it already prepared when my special guest arrived."  
  
She closed her eyes, knowing now what she would find inside... and wishing beyond all hope that it wasn't so. Wishing that she hadn't been so brave as to go with Lecter to 'save' Greg, without no one knowing where she was. Longing to turn back the clock, once more.  
  
"Now come, Clarice. The soup should be just about done simmering."  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Well. What does one really say to that, hm? Thanks go to lady sparticus, SJ, Steel, and Nanci (whoo!) for reviewing! Thank you all. You keep me going. 


	7. Chapter Seven

7  
  
Clarice found, with some surprise, that in the moments following Dr. Lecter's statement she had allowed him to lead her into the cottage. Apparently without protest or struggle, either. She didn't quite remember him taking her by the hand, or opening the door, or stepping inside. She was too busy, assimilating the knowledge that Greg was lost, and had been lost before she made the foolhardy decision to come out here. Now she didn't know what to do.  
  
Dr. Lecter, with the impeccable manners that always attended him, led her to a small but elegant table and pulled out a chair for her to seat herself in. As she slowly sat her eyes were constantly moving, searching for that one thing that may make the difference... however, the only utensils at the two place settings on the table were spoons. Knives and forks had been forgone, as Dr. Lecter had too good of a sense to supply her with ready weapons.  
  
He, the doctor, had busied himself with first lighting the candles on the table, to give the proper soft lighting, and seemed to be paying no attention to Clarice. Of course, she was paying complete attention to him, and it was this that gave her the only hope she had of getting out of here... it was behind him, visible when he moved a bit to the left, was a small elegant table. On top of which rested a phone. It seemed odd that he'd overlook such a detail, but it was possible he thought for sure that she wouldn't be able to get to it, as it was on the other side of the table from her.  
  
"If you will excuse me a just moment, Clarice, I will bring in the first course," Lecter offered cordially. Once she nodded at him, reluctantly though it was, he turned to go into what she presumed was the kitchen... and it was then that she noticed the odor.  
  
He must have taken the lid off a pot, she thought to herself as she silently rose from her chair to edge her way around the table. She wasn't quite sure as to whether she should laugh or cry at the way her stomach began growling immediately, and she became suddenly aware of what a mess she was, as well as the mess she was in. Only a few hours of sleep, and not a decent meal, not to mention the shocks that she'd encountered so recently.  
  
"I just never get a break," she whispered to herself with morbid amusement, as she picked up the handset to the phone, and shot a cautious look towards the kitchen. She could see his back through the doorway, and he seemed to be adding spices to the mentioned soup. She dialed.  
  
**********  
  
When Hannibal reappeared with a bowl of soup in each hand, Clarice had retaken her seat, and didn't appear to have moved an inch. A glance might prove that the handset was still slightly off the cradle, due to her haste in sitting down again... but she hoped fervently that he wouldn't notice.  
  
"Would you care for some wine, Clarice? Last time we dined together, you never drank yours... I'm afraid the drugs were making you feel a bit nauseated," Dr. Lecter asked, not appearing to notice the phone in the slightest as he set her soup down before her.  
  
One glance at the soup, and Clarice nodded, jaw clenched tight. The soup was the precise color of blood - which didn't necessarily mean anything, in truth. In fact, the redness was undoubtedly due to tomatoes. Surely, tomatoes. But it struck a chord in her heart, and she knew she needed the wine, regardless of whether or not it was a good idea.  
  
The wine, of course, was expensive. He poured it generously, a full glass for each of them before he began to speak, to broach the true topic of this evening's dinner. "Now, I'm quite sure you're wondering why you are here, 'Agent' Starling."  
  
Clarice's eyes flickered briefly to the phone behind him, wondering how long it would take for the police to arrive, and how long she would have to endure this man's torture. "The question did cross my mind, Dr. Lecter."  
  
"Of course it did, and I must apologize for having deceived you, in letting you believe that Mr. Smythe was alive and well, and waiting for his precious Clare to come save him. I had a feeling it would be all that would induce you to come with me."  
  
Greg's voice... Clare, Clare, Clare. I'm sorry Clare... did you have any idea, Clare?  
  
How did he know? Starling didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say, nothing that she could think of. She just drank her wine, and waited for the next words to be spoken in his elegant manner, to wrench out her heart and mess with her head.  
  
"Just keep in mind that I intend for you to survive this night. You will, if you do what I say."  
  
His voice was oddly distant sounding to her ear.  
  
"I'm afraid, before I continue with what I was saying, I must ask your forgiveness again..."  
  
He hadn't touched his wine. He hadn't had so much as a sip, she realized, with an unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
  
"I don't think you should have any more of that," Lecter said, and reached across to take away her wine. "I don't want you asleep, just numbed... and harmless, so that we may both get through this with little difficulty."  
  
He drugged the bloody wine, Clarice realized, resignation mingling with her fear. She was completely harmless, and helpless. Regardless of what he did, her hope of beating him off physically was pretty much nil, now.  
  
Dr. Lecter rose from his chair, and rounded the table to stand beside Clarice, where she struggled to keep her eyes open against the drugs raging through her system. "Against my better judgment, Clarice, I am going to help you. Help your position, in the grand F.B.I... or, really I ought to say I am going to help you keep your current position, as I don't imagine anything I could do tonight would advance you much."  
  
That took a moment to process in Starling's mind, to break through the other thoughts swirling around in her head to make contact. "Why?" she managed to murmur, clenching her hands on the edge of the table to keep herself upright. Whatever he'd given her was working fast.  
  
"It does seem odd, doesn't it Clarice? Seeing the run-ins I've had with the F.B.I. it would make more sense if I were trying to get you out of that cesspool, rather than keep you in it. Can you think of no possible explanation? Hm? No? Surely you know how much you please me, Clarice. If you lose your job, then I'll just get another mindless meal chasing me... and that gets tedious. Very tedious."  
  
She could feel it as he reached out to her, and traced one finger over her cheek. She didn't pull away, as she knew that if she did she would likely fall off her chair. If nothing else, she had to keep at least some level of dignity. It was ridiculous, thinking about dignity when she was in this situation. His finger, once running across her cheek brushed briefly and tenderly across her lips, before the doctor stepped away to gather something behind her, something that clanked with metal.  
  
That's my girl… the kiss... oh god, the kiss... the kiss, then the handcuffs  
  
That's what the metallic sound was, she realized about an instant before he was gently arranging her hands behind her chair so that he could cuff them. She could practically feel his distaste at treating her like this, and was still in the dark as to why he was going against his usual etiquette... when it was quite obvious that she was going nowhere in her drugged up state.  
  
"Now listen carefully, Clarice," Dr. Lecter began, once he had ensured that she was secured well. "I am not enjoying this, but to make sure we have a long and happy future together, you must do what I say... are you listening, Clarice?"  
  
She managed a nod to show she was listening to every word he spoke, though she understood not a word of what he was going on about. Future?  
  
"Good. The police will be here soon. Yes, I know you called them. I wanted you to, Clarice, as it was the only way that this was going to work... I've been planning this for awhile, now. When they get here, they will find you just as you are now. They will have apparently scared me away seconds before I killed you... that, I believe, should clear you of blame in aiding me escape. You are obviously helpless to stop me, drugged and chained, and I don't think it will be drawn into question by anyone but the tabloids, who will undoubtedly see some satanic mating ritual in all this."  
  
Clarice's mind was whirring, trying to make sense of all this... so many questions, and the only one her drugged tongue managed to utter was "Killed me?"  
  
"Before I killed you, Clarice, of course. I'll be careful, don't worry. Now, what you're going to tell them, Clarice... this is important, now. I kidnapped you from your so-called protective custody. You woke up in my car on the way here, already handcuffed. When you got here, I left you alone to go begin our meal, courtesy of Mr. Smythe. You called the police, knowing that your fellow agents would not abandon you to such a monster, and from then on you drank your wine to oblige me... and ended up drugged, by my design. I, being the madman that I am, grew angry when you did not eat my soup, prepared so carefully for your enjoyment. That's when the police arrived."  
  
"When you got angry?"  
  
"Yes, Clarice."  
  
That, that is when she noticed the other thing he had taken from the table when he'd gotten the handcuffs. A hunting knife, long and sleek, gleamed in his hand. Perfect condition, no doubt... and razor sharp, to be sure. That is when it finally clicked in Starling's mind by what he meant by 'before he killed her'. She gave a few half-hearted tugs to the chain holding her to the chair, but knew there was no way to escape it. He was going to stab her. When the police arrived.  
  
It seemed that thought had barely flashed through her mind when the familiar flashing red and blue lights started washing through the window, as the train of cars bounced up the uneven path. They, apparently, had decided that it didn't matter if there was no road... once they'd figured out the path, they just would forge ahead and create a road of their own.  
  
Clarice stared out the window for a moment, and silently raised her eyes to Hannibal's face, alternately washed in red and blue. She knew it was coming, even before she saw his arm move. Even before she felt the sharp burst of pain in her side, and saw his blade come away stained red. Or purple, when the blue lights throbbed outside. She bit back a whimper, as the cut along her side, just below her ribcage, began to sting in protest of the air.  
  
"So strong. Now, make me proud, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, apparently in no rush as he spoke... then bent down to press his lips against hers.  
  
The kiss lasted only an instant. It felt like an eternity, in Clarice's mind, before he pulled away to brush a fond hand over her hair.  
  
"See you soon. Ta-ta."  
  
And he was gone. How he was gone, or how he managed to escape, were two questions that would never be answered. The police rushed in, and medics... apparently an ambulance had been brought along, just in case. Lucky me, Clarice found herself thinking dazedly.  
  
Everything started blurring. The faces of the medics and police above her turned into one multi-colored blur, awash in red and blue from the lights. Red and blue, over and over and over again... and never again would she be able to see those lights without thinking of this night. She'd always think of this night, and her lips would burn in memory.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Thanks go, this time, to Steel, aello, SJ, StrawberryLecter, and Nanci! I love you all. One chapter left to go, I think. 


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
Finally, finally they were letting her out of the hospital. Clarice learned anew how painstakingly slow time went when you were confined to one of those tiny little rooms, with their tiny little beds. They would have liked to keep her longer, but the long cut along her side was healing up nicely, and they had no reason to hold her prisoner any longer.  
  
Not to mention she wanted out. More than that, she needed to get out. To be alone, to reflect, and remember. Everything.  
  
They were going to let her go home rather than remain in protective custody. They felt certain that, after this latest scare, Lecter would not be hanging around these parts, and would particularly not care to get to close to Starling. After all, he'd already done his damage to her.  
  
The newspapers were splashed with the horrific story. An F.B.I. agent, kidnapped from safe custody. Drugged up, and tied helplessly by a vicious monster. Barely saved from death and consumption, by the local police. That's the story they all knew, the story that Clarice had related to them.  
  
Clarice was met outside the hospital by Ardelia, who had come to drive her home, and protect her from the press that had gathered outside, waiting for her release. They were like sharks. Once they smelled the slightest hint of Lecter, they swarmed and went into a veritable feeding frenzy. But Ardelia managed to smuggle her out without the reporters getting too much in her face, and into the car.  
  
For the first time since it happened, Clarice began to relax.  
  
**********  
  
That night, long after Mapp had gone to bed, Clarice was sitting up in her room. She'd just taken a shower, and her reflection had caught her eye as she passed by the mirror. Her scar, to be precise, had caught her eye as she passed naked by the mirror. It was barely noticeable now, there on her shoulder, Dr. Lecter had done such an expert job of it. Comparing her old scar to her newly stitched wound, even with her amateur eye, she had a feeling that the newer one would not heal so neatly as the first. The one on her shoulder was scarcely a thread of discolored flesh, now.  
  
She gave a soft sigh, and turned from the mirror to rummage through her drawer, to get her largest T-shirt from the bottom of the stack. The nightie she had that was the least elegant, the least like the one she'd worn to Hannibal's dinner.  
  
Her hand first happened upon a lovely silk nightdress, teal in color, and trimmed in the finest ivory lace. Exquisite. She'd never worn it before.  
  
She'd also never seen it before, in her life.  
  
She was strangely unsurprised when she found the note pinned just inside the neck of the garment. Addressed, of course, in an elegant copperplate handwriting, simply to 'Clarice'. She unpinned the small square piece of paper, and slid the nightdress over her head. She began to open the note to read what was written, but stopped before the first word was read to consider, truly consider.  
  
"I need wine," she decided after a moment.  
  
**********  
  
Dear Clarice,  
  
I trust the doctors have taken good care of you in my absence. I'd have patched you up myself but, as I'm sure you understand, I was somewhat pressed for time. My deepest apologies.  
  
I'm afraid I ruined your last nightgown, Clarice, and as it seemed to be the finest nightgown you owned, I felt obliged to replace it. Hope it fits. I thought it would look lovely with your hair, am I right?  
  
It was lovely seeing you again, Clarice.  
  
Until next time,  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Hannibal Lecter, M.D.  
  
That is how the letter read. Each of the five times Clarice read it. The line about the nightgown she found faintly insulting. Reminiscent of the stab her took at her shoes, the first time they met. But now, as then, it was true. She had never owned a nightgown so fine as the one she wore now... and it was unsettling, the knowledge.  
  
"Gucci shoes, silk nightgown, fine wine," she mused, tipping the last few drops of her own, far cheaper wine, down her throat. "All I need is a nice car, Dr. Lecter, and I'll be perfectly outfitted." Dry humor, used in the hopes that it would hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill over since her admittance to the hospital.  
  
See you soon. Ta-ta.  
  
His farewell that night flashed through her mind, momentarily. See you soon. The doctor never said anything he didn't mean. That thought made her distinctly uncomfortable as she looked towards the windows, and she swiftly set her wine glass on the counter to go back to her room. To sleep, and hopefully not dream.  
  
As she crossed the living room again, bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, again a reflection caught her eye. Not her own this time, but the reflection of light against the cover of a book. That flower book of Ardelia's, it was still in the living room, set directly in the middle of the coffee table, with the moonlight glinting of its plastic cover.  
  
"Just leave it Starling," Clarice commanded of herself, even as she started walking towards where the book lay. "Leave it."  
  
She knew it was hopeless, however, when she reached to pick it up. She never had gotten to look up that final flower to see if its meaning differed from its name. She had decided that she didn't really want to know, even. But something was pulling her to leaf through those pristine white pages, through the As, and the Bs, and the Cs... Ds... Es... to the Fs. The Fs, to the F-os. There it was again.  
  
Forget-Me-Not.  
  
Her finger followed along the same line as those three words, to the meaning. What she read forced her breath to catch in her throat... and the first tear to mark a damp trail alongside her nose.  
  
Would you ever say to me stop? If you loved me, you'd stop?  
  
You have very shapely feet  
  
You are the honey in the lion  
  
They resent you because you're not like them  
  
All you'd need for that is a mirror  
  
You're looking well  
  
You please me... please me... if you loved me you'd stop... see you soon, Clarice  
  
Forget-Me-Not: Traditionally meaning True Love.  
  
**********  
  
He watched from the darkness of the street, inside his darkened car, a camera equipped with a telephoto lens held up to his eye. Through this he watched as Clarice sunk to the couch and flipped through the book, the book he'd placed so strategically to catch the light.  
  
He was correct, she looked absolutely stunning in teal.  
  
The first tear freed itself from her lashes to roll down her cheek, and calmly he depressed the button. The droplet on her cheek was frozen in time, forever his. Perhaps he'd draw it, and send it to her.  
  
After all, the game wasn't over.  
  
**********  
  
The next morning, on the message machine, was a call from her superiors. Starling was to be back on the Lecter case ASAP.  
  
Clarice, upon hearing that, spent the next ten minutes staring at the pressed Forget-Me-Not that she had left on her nightstand. Then she raised the phone to reply, and confirm that she would be in to work the next day, after resting for a little longer.  
  
It was all just beginning.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: The End! Well. Wow. I had no idea that this would go so quickly. I loved writing it, every second of it, and I hope you all enjoyed it too! Thanks go to Steel, clevergirl, SJ, ZechsMerquise, and... Nanci! Thank you to everyone who reviewed multiple times, so I could refer in conversation to my 'loyal fans' ^.^ I already have an idea brewing for another Hannibal story. Hopefully I'll get such great response to that, as well. 


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